


sing me to sleep; i want to go

by SafelyCapricious



Series: asleep [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 08:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12104373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: “Blast,” Jemma says when she remembers her tea. The teabag goes straight in the trash as she checks the time. She swears again – she most certainly doesn’t have enough time to make another cup, so she dumps more cream and sugar than is her wont in the cup and mixes angrily. She can still taste the strong bitter, poorly masked as it is by the sweet dilution, but she needs the caffeine this morning too badly to forgo it.She spares a glance at the notes she had been looking over – the notes that had distracted her enough to let her tea overstep – grimaces, then takes both them and the disappointing tea out the door.Today is, over all, going to be disappointing she suspects.She’s not wrong.





	sing me to sleep; i want to go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jdphoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/gifts).



> This is for the ever amazing, ridiculously talented, superfantastically superb [JD](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix)!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY JD!
> 
> (It is not yet her birthday, but it will be very, very soon -- and this has more than one chapter (although all bits can be stand alone and I will be posting them on separate occasions) so I figured I should post the first bit well in advance so I can actually be done with the rest on time.)
> 
> This has probably not been edited as much as it should've been, because JD deserves flawless, but she chose me as a friend so, I guess she must be okay with ridiculous and flawed. <3 <2 <2 <3

“Blast,” Jemma says when she remembers her tea. The teabag goes straight in the trash as she checks the time. She swears again – she most certainly doesn’t have enough time to make another cup, so she dumps more cream and sugar than is her wont in the cup and mixes angrily. She can still taste the strong bitter, poorly masked as it is by the sweet dilution, but she needs the caffeine this morning too badly to forgo it.  
   
She spares a glance at the notes she had been looking over – the notes that had distracted her enough to let her tea overstep – grimaces, then takes both them and the disappointing tea out the door.  
   
Today is, over all, going to be disappointing she suspects.  
   
She’s not wrong.  
   
Despite how prepared she is – as prepared as she could be when she was notified of the early morning meeting via an email that she hadn’t gotten until after she’d woken up – she is talked over and ignored.  
   
The Doctor – who really does _not_ understand anything outside of engineering, computing and _torture_ as far as she can tell – cuts the funding to her limited programs even more, and sneers at her while he does it.  
   
She can’t be too surprised, but she’s still disappointed.  
   
He’s been undercutting her since the academy, back when she’d done better on some test or a professor had liked her more or – she can’t honestly remember what caused it, but it’s ancient history and she’s surprised he hasn’t just tried to kill her.  
   
But, she supposes, Hydra wouldn’t have her brain if she were dead – and wouldn’t _that_ be a pity. Sometimes she thinks maybe it’s more than that – that maybe the memory of laughing along together as they studied for the stupid physical fitness test haunts him the way it haunts her – but the memories are hazy even for her, and she doubts he’s spent much time trying to remember anything back before SHIELD turned to Hydra. Why would he, he’s in charge now and he certainly wasn’t then.  
   
She shakes such meandering thoughts from her head, gathers her notes and her tea, and tries to think positively. Surely the day can only get better from here.  
   
The day does not improve from there.  
   
She spills some of her tea on herself when a specialist bumps into her with a sneer – which means some of _those_ rumors must be going around again – and one of the fridges in the lab is on the fritz again which means a good third of her samples are ruined.  
   
And then she almost smiles at Daisy in the hallway but remembers herself at the last minute and has to take a detour to the ladies to get herself under control.  
   
She doesn’t cry, of course, there are far too many eyes at Hydra for her to even consider that. No, instead she uses the facilities, literally powders her nose and touches up the rest of her makeup and compartmentalizes.  
   
She’s steady, again, and goes back to salvage what she can from her lab.  
   
By the time she goes home, she’s spent well more than her allotted eight hours there and the sky is dark and filled with stars.  
   
Somewhere up in that, Will Daniels is circling the earth on the international space station. The last article she’d seen on him had involved how he’d proposed to one of the other astronauts and the zero gravity weddIng they were planning.  
   
Jemma wonders – as she does every night since her real memory started to bleed into the framework – if her greatest regret _is_ Will dying instead of not being with him.  
   
It doesn’t matter, of course, it’s not actually him. But it’s still very much a “be careful what you wish for” situation, because even before she knew what the real world was, she was miserable.  
   
She’s still miserable.  
   
Her friends are few, far between, and casual here – and she can’t even try to make friends with any of her real friends. She can only imagine what would happen to her if she did.  
   
And if she knows one thing, it’s that she can’t die here.  
   
The last time she’d smiled at Daisy the other woman – going by Skye here – had thought she was smiling at Ward and had taken offense.  
   
AIDA – she can’t call her that here, obviously, but there is some vicious pleasure in being able to think it – won’t even let her near The Doctor. Not that she particularly wants to be friends with this version of him anyways.  
   
May eyes her suspiciously, and she’s under no illusions that the other woman wouldn’t kill her if she thought it would protect Hydra.  
   
She has no idea where Coulson, Elena, Lance, or, even, Mack are in this twisted world – she can only hope that they’re happier with their pseudo wishes than she is with hers.  
   
Because she’s miserable and alone.  
   
But fake-Will is happy somewhere out there and the sky is gorgeous.  
   
And her friends…her real friends – the ones still out there in the real world – well, they have to come for them eventually.  
   
Don’t they?  
   
She doesn’t let herself think that maybe the real Jemma Simmons is dead, maybe she’s just the surviving memory in a twisted virtual reality – or maybe worse, _better_ , that the real Jemma Simmons is disconnected and she’s still just a memory stuck here.  
   
But the stars don’t care – they’re still beautiful and perfect in a way the rest of the world isn’t.  
   
So she takes one last breath of the fresh air, closing her eyes and breathing deep, before digging around in her purse for her keys.  
   
In a squeal of tires and black cloth and hard hands her keys and purse both drop to the ground and then there’s pain against her temple again and –  
   
“—some low level biologist,” there’s still cloth over her eyes – a bag, she thinks, not a blindfold – but the air smells musty, her head aches, and there’s a ringing in her ears that’s hard to hear over.  
   
“Maybe here. Trust me, we need her for this.”  
   
She’s going to be very upset if they are planning to kill her – all this time she’s kept her head down and stayed alive because she’s so sure that dying in the framework would kill her real body and – if she was going to die here anyways she would’ve rather it be for doing something actually worthwhile.  
   
Like punching AIDA in the face.  
   
The bag is abruptly removed and she can’t see for the blinding light. She blinks tears out of her eyes and slowly, worryingly slowly, the world swims into focus and –  
   
“Ward?” Her gaze moves from his crouching form to the man standing behind him, “And…Mace?” The room spins lazily, and despite her efforts to blink it back into focus it doesn’t quite work. “I…believe I may have a concussion?” she manages to say before the spinning gets to be too much and she leans forward and vomits.  
   
It’s probably lucky that she hadn’t managed to have anything but that tea all day. The bitter aftertaste lingers and she hopes for water but then she’s trying to sit up again and the room is swaying and –  
   
There’s some sort of commotion – a fair bit of swearing she can hear – and then she’s being moved and her world lurches and goes black again.  
   
She opens her eyes to grey light in a grey room. The air is still musty but she’s on her back, staring at the ceiling, a cot beneath her. She touches her temple lightly, winces, and takes a careful breath. When nausea doesn’t reach up to grab her, she gingerly sits up and blinks around.  
   
It’s a cement box, with a door and the cot and – nothing else. Not even a toilet, which seems short sighted of them, if they plan to keep her here for any length of time.  
   
Her memories are hazy, but she thinks she saw Ward earlier, which means this is probably the Doctor’s doing.  
   
She wonders if he’s finally decided to kill her.  
   
More importantly, she wonders if the digital versions actually can – she knows AIDA couldn’t physically harm anyone in the real world, but she’s not sure if that’s still true, here, in her world.  
   
Or course, if the Doctor decides to do the honors then she most definitely will die – or if he orders Daisy to.  
   
She’s…not entirely sure who else is real. Ward probably isn’t – she’s not even sure AIDA would’ve been able to track him down, SHIELD certainly hadn’t, before this threat. Hell, Daisy might not be either, she would’ve been taken after Jemma or, maybe, secretly before.  
   
She knows Fitz was taken before her, since his replacement was the one that brought her in.  
  
Talk about ways to ruin the afterglow.  
   
Very slowly she shifts so she can place her feet on the ground and attempt to stand. The concrete is cold beneath her feet – she has no idea what happened to her shoes – and she wants to pull them back into the warmth of the cot, but more than that she wants to get this over with. If they’re going to torture and kill her she’d rather they get started sooner, rather than later.  
   
It’s not like she has anything to live for here, and her hope in returning to the real world is quickly fading.  
   
“Hello?” she calls, once she’s braced herself by the door, still unsteady enough to need the support. “Is anyone out there? Can I have some water?”  
   
“Go sit back on your cot and we’ll bring you some,” comes a voice through the metal door, and she sighs and goes to do as she’s told.  
   
When the door opens it’s Ward again, which means she was right about seeing him earlier, but also Mace which…he’s an inhuman in this world, isn’t he?  
   
She wonders if that means he’s real here – or if AIDA just gave the program their desires anyways, for when they were inevitably brought in.  
   
Ward hands her a cup of water and she takes it, grateful to ease the dryness of her throat, when the implications of Mace being here finally sink in.  
   
This isn’t Hydra – Mace isn’t Hydra, he’s _SHIELD_.  
   
“Oh,” she says, around the lip of her cup as she considers the men before her. They’re both standing – if she thought herself capable of doing so without falling she might join them, but as is she simply looks up at them.  
   
Mace looks stern with his hands on his hips and his shoulders square and Ward has his arms crossed as he stares down at her.  
   
She starts smiling despite herself when she realizes that this means that Ward was programed to be a double agent in this world too.  
   
Fitting.  
   
“Now, Miss Simmons,” Mace starts.  
   
“It’s Doctor, actually,” both Jemma and Ward say at the same time, then she stares at him with wide eyes and he smirks at her and her heart thumps traitorously.  
   
“Doctor, then,” Mace clears his throat to get her attention and she has to wretch it away from Ward’s familiar expression. “We need your help.”  
   
“Alright,” she agrees, because it’s not like even the framework version of her was ever particularly loyal to Hydra, but mostly because it feels nice to maybe be on the right side again – even if none of it is real.  
   
Mace blinks, he was clearly ramping up for a big sell – but Ward laughs and because the sound makes her want to smile she frowns instead.  
   
They might not be active enemies in the real world, anymore – or at least until he decides to come out of the woodwork again to take up arms against them, but old habits die hard and she needs to not find him charming. Again. She’s already made that mistake once.  
   
“I haven’t even told you what you’ll be doing,” Mace says, his wariness obvious. “You’ve been Hydra for a long time – don’t think you can double cross us.”  
   
Jemma considers him, head tilted slightly as she notices the similarities and differences between here and the real world.. She likes Mace – in the real world at least – she does. But they’re hardly friends. Still, it’s nice to see a familiar face.  
   
“I was a fresh graduate,” she says, after a moment’s thought, “when the uprising happened. I was the youngest graduate ever, in fact, just a child.” His expression remains stony and she can’t help but smile a little at that. “And I was terrified. I didn’t want to die.”  
   
She still doesn’t. But if she’s going to – and even if they’re not planning to kill her it still seems likely that it’s inevitable at this point – she’d rather be doing something meaningful.  
   
“The Doctor,” she continues, gaze now fixed on the wall because she’ll forever have mixed emotions about Fitz, “graduated at the same time as me. You can see where his ambition for Hydra got him…and where mine did.” She shrugs, suddenly tired of this conversation and the rising belief that they’re not going to believe her anyways and she’ll be locked in here until Hydra bombs the base and she’ll be crushed to death.  
   
The drag of a shoe against the concrete draws her attention and she finds Ward smiling at her – it’s not that awkward grin she knows from the Bus or the mocking smirk she knows from every interaction after that – or even the cold smile he gives people in the hallways of Hydra – and she has to turn away from the warmth of it to where Mace is looking at her, speculatively.  
   
“Good,” he says, finally, with a little nod. “Naturally,” he continues in a tone she’s used to hearing when he’s saying his stupid trust thing, “you’ll have an escort until we’re sure we can trust you.”  
   
“Naturally,” she agrees dryly.  
   
“Great,” he’s smiling at her – fake as it might be it still makes her feel warm and at home in a way she hasn’t in far too long. “I’ll assign agent T—“  
   
“I’d be glad to watch her,” Ward says and Jemma can’t help but look at him again – but he’s not even looking at her, instead his gaze is fixed on Mace. They have a wordless conversation, and then Mace is nodding and Jemma wonders if the real versions of them would ever get so close. She doubts it.  
   
“Ward’ll show you what we need from you,” Mace continues, like he wasn’t interrupted at all, and Jemma nods along. “It’s…good to have you with us, Miss Simmons.”  
   
“Doctor,” she and Ward correct him again and he waves a hand before leaving.  
   
“I’ll show you to the do-“ Ward is saying, holding out a hand to her, when she interrupts.  
   
“Is Skye SHIELD, too?” Jemma’s watching him closely enough to see the wince – so she knows the answer before he even starts shaking her head and she can feel her heart sink. But, it was foolish to think that maybe now she’d have any of her friends back. That, apparently, hadn’t been anyone’s wish.  
   
“No,” he says, even though she’s turned away and doesn’t need the answer. “And she has no idea I am.”  
   
She can’t help but snort a little at that – imagine, a universe where Grant Ward is pretending to be something he’s not and fooling the people closest to him. Shocking.  
   
“Now,” he continues, “let me show you to the dorms, we can get you settled, have something to eat, then check out the labs.”  
   
“Okay,” she agrees, and tries to stand on her own – he catches her with sure hands when her balance doesn’t prove quite up to the task and she clutches his shoulder as the room sways alarmingly for a second before settling. Her temple is still tender, when she runs light fingers over it, and then his hand is on her chin and he’s tilting her head and –  
   
She closes her eyes against the light or maybe against the concern in his face as he runs his own fingers over her temple. “Change of plans,” he says, “infirmary first.”  
   
“That is,” she admits, “probably a good idea.”  
   
The infirmary is less well stocked than the Hydra one and reminds her, vaguely, of any number of old abandoned bases the team had bounced around at while trying to rebuild. Despite the lack of equipment, however, the medic on hand – and he looks vaguely familiar to Jemma, but she’s not sure if she knows him from this world or the real one – is able to do a credible job of diagnosing her.  
   
If he’s puzzled by how much more scattered she is than the hit itself suggests, he doesn’t ask about it. Which is good, Jemma’s not sure she’d be able to explain that her real body has a similar injury that’s causing the feedback loop in a way that wouldn’t make him assume she needed to be psychologically evaluated.  
   
“Okay,” Ward says, once the medic has finished looking her over. They don’t have any drugs to spare, since it’s not life threatening, so he’s advised her to get some food, drink lots of water, and to have someone wake her up ever two hours. “Food then the dorms.”  
   
She looks up at him, still seated on the examination table as she is. It seems to her that considering she hadn’t really spoken to him before today – too afraid that this Daisy would kill her for it – they’ve been in this position far more often than is comfortable. “I can work a little,” she protests.  
   
“Why am I not surprised you’d be a bad patient?” he asks, clearly rhetorically as he’s helping her to her feet and continuing before she can reply. “We’re gonna go get you fed then you can sleep off the last of this – doctor’s orders, Doctor Simmons.”  
   
His arm is a heavy weight around her waist and she’s not sure if she wants to protest or lean into it. It’s been so long since someone has touched her in a friendly way – and it’s not like this Ward is the real Ward. She deserves to get some comfort from him. In fact, considering the hell that the real Ward has put her through – put all of them through, to be fair – it’s almost fitting that she receives some compensation in this world.  
   
So she lets him take her weight as they walk, slowly, to the mess hall. And then he’s making her sit at one of the long tables – the other agents looking at her with suspicion out of the corner of their eyes in a way that isn’t actually that dissimilar to how she’s looked at in Hydra most of the time – as he gathers something for them to eat.  
   
It’s not until he’s back at her side, sliding a tray with a piece of bread and some sort of stew and a sad little cookie on it that she realizes how hungry she is. Her stomach rises, protesting the lack of food she’s given it with a roll of nausea that a quick bite of the bread calms. She tucks in, vigorously, too hungry to pay anymore mind to the stares around her.  
   
Ward spoons some of his own onto her plate, when she’s close to finished, and she’s still too famished to protest – though she does offer him a smile as thanks.  
   
It’s not until she’s done – not quite full but no longer hungry – that she sees the cup of tea waiting above her plate. There’s no teabag, but it smells like Lipton’s – funny thing, that the tea tastes exactly the same here as there, but here the label has that little cartoon octopus on it – and when she takes a sip it’s not over steeped and it’s just sweet enough and she has to fight back tears.  
   
“Simmons?” Ward asks, his hand against her shoulder and she takes a breath and tries to force a smile.  
   
“Sorry,” she says, “I guess I am tired.”  
   
He nods, eats his cookie in a single bite and then helps her off the bench – one hand on her back, one under her elbow and he’s escorting her out of the room with all the eyes.  
   
Exhaustion is dogging her steps now – she supposes passing out from a concussion probably doesn’t count as sleep – and she doesn’t bother to keep her head up, trudging along as Ward leads her down dreary grey hallway after dreary grey hallway.  
   
Finally he stops and she musters the energy to look up. He’s typing a code into a door lock and then – this is most certainly not the dorms.  
   
“I’m not sleeping with you,” she says, flashing back horribly to the sneer the specialist gave her earlier and surely if those rumors are going around again than Ward would have heard them and –  
   
“I’m not going to sleep,” Ward says, amusement thick in his voice and she wonders if anyone will help her if she screams, “and you need to be woken up every two hours. So it makes more sense for you to crash here, so I don’t piss off your dorm mates when I come back every two hours to make sure you’re alive.”  
   
He’s ushering her in and she’s helpless to resist and then he’s pointing things out, hand and on her back as he turns her to where he’s gesturing, “I have spare pajamas in the bottom drawer there, take whatever fits best. There should be a spare toothbrush under the sink. Maybe don’t shower because I’m not sure your balance is very good right now and I don’t think you’d want me helping you with that. I think you can figure the rest out. Try to get some sleep, I’m gonna go put out some fires.” And then, with a squeeze to her shoulder, he’s gone. The door sliding shut quietly behind him.  
   
She collapses on the bed and breathes into her hands for a moment because otherwise she’s going to scream and –  
   
Sleep. She needs sleep.  
   
She takes another moment to just breathe, sitting on Ward’s bed in a SHIELD base, and then she gets up to find some pajamas and to brush her teeth.  
   
“Simmons,” she hears, and although she’s fairly sure she’s just closed her eyes, when she opens them again Ward is hovering, frown firmly in place.  
   
“Huh?” is all she manages, but she’s rewarded with a brilliant smile.  
   
And then he says, “Nothing, go back to sleep,” and she does just that.  
   
Ward’s face and voice swim in and out of her dreams, but when she finally wakes up she’s alone in the room.  
   
There’s a light on though – a small lamp in the corner she’s not sure she even saw last night, and he’s got a shirt draped over it to help dim it. She’s sure it wasn’t on when she went to bed.  
   
She touches light fingertips to her temple, and while it’s still sore – it’s been sore since her memories started to come back – it’s a less acute ache than before and she suspects the worst of it has passed.  
   
There’s a cup of water on the bedside table, and she takes it gratefully and finishes it before she tries to stand up.  
   
He’s got a small rug down on the floor – a creature comfort she honestly wasn’t expecting of this Ward – and the softness of it on her feet reminds her that she still doesn’t know what happened to her shoes.  
   
Her shirt and blouse are where she left them in the corner, and she takes them with her into the bathroom. She’s steady again, and Ward isn’t there to tell her no, so she locks the door and steps into the cold water.  
   
She’s not sure if the shower has some quirk she doesn’t know or if they simply don’t have the resources to heat water for everyone, but as she uses the utilitarian soap to wash her hair and her body, spray like ice against her skin, she starts to feel alive again in a way she hasn’t since before.  
   
Before _what_ she’s not sure – maybe before her memory started to come back, but more likely from before the fall of SHIELD and the end of her nice simple life plan.  
   
She stands under the spray, shivering, after she’s finished, head tilted up and water like salvation on her skin – and then there’s pounding on the door and – she does nearly slip in her efforts to turn off the shower and wrap a towel around herself and unlock the door all at the same time but it seems like whoever it is – and it can only be Ward – will break it down if she doesn’t and –  
   
“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her. She can’t fight him off – not that she entirely wants too – not and keep her grip on her towel and her balance.  
   
“I’m fine,” she says, into his tactical vest because better though she might feel she’s not going to exacerbate her injuries by wrenching her neck away from him. Her hair is slowly soaking into the dark material and she sees he’s wearing his Hydra issued gear and she wonders if that’s where he’s been.  
   
It makes sense. Makes more sense than anything else.  
   
“Scared the shit out of me,” he’s mumbling into her hair and then he’s letting her go and stepping away and if not for the wet marks she’d left on him she’d think it had never happened for how serious he looks. “Brought you some clean clothes. Hopefully they’ll fit. We can have someone raid your house for clothes soon, but this is the best we can do for now.”  
   
“Okay,” she says, carefully accepting the pile of clothes he holds out to her and then holding them against her body so she doesn’t let the towel slip anymore. She tightens her jaw to keep her teeth from clattering, but as he continues to not say anything she takes a few careful steps back until she can close the bathroom door between them again.  
   
The clothes are worn things – washed out browns and greys. But the pants fit around her hips no worse than any other pair she’s owned and the sleeves on the shirt are long enough that she can hide her fingers in them. The knickers are new, at least, some Fruit of the Web three pack. She hardly notices the discordance when the apple in the middle is a grinning red skull. There’s no new bra, which is just as well as hers will do and she’s not sure she wants to think of anyone picking out intimates for her.  
   
There are still no shoes.  
   
Ward is sitting on his bed, when she comes out, flipping through a magazine.  
   
“Where are my shoes?” she asks, because she’s not sure how to thank him for everything he’s done for her and she’s not sure he’d believe her that she’s glad she was kidnapped.  
   
“Ah,” he says, tossing the magazine behind him as he stands. “Yeah, you aren’t gonna get those back. Shoes usually have trackers – and also Mace is worried about you trying to escape.”  
   
He’s staring at her feet, and she tries to bury them in the rug, oddly self-conscious about it. “I can’t work in a lab without shoes.” She says, because it seems unlikely anyone will believe her that she’s not planning to escape either. Maybe they’ll believe that even if she wanted to she’s too smart not to know the Doctor would kill her if she returned – she’s been gone too long and he’s sure to think she’s defected. Which she has.  
   
He shrugs and holds out a pair of socks. “I’ll bring it up with Mace.”  
   
She sighs, takes them, and then, still a little self consciously, takes a seat on his bed, next to where he’s standing, to pull them on.  
   
“What am I going to do, anyways? Weapons? Drugs? Drugged weapons?”  
   
He stills then turns his head slowly so she feels pinned by his gaze. He’s looking for something, but she’s not sure what it is so she ducks her head and makes sure her socks are on right. “Can you do that?” he asks after a moment, “Weapons, I mean. I was under the impression you worked mostly with cures and medicines and things.”  
   
“Oh,” she says, shrugging and touching a nervous finger to her temple, “I was trained in…more then just making medicines. At…at the academy, I mean. I might be a little rusty but…” she shrugs.  
   
The truth is, someone else created most of the weapons she was, at least, partially responsible for in the real world here. But after her time in Hydra – the real Hydra, in the real world – she often finds herself fantasizing about other weapons she could make when she’s very, very stressed or very, very unhappy.  
   
She’s both, much of the time, here.  
   
But she’s still afraid of killing one of her friends, if she’s not already dead in the real world she doesn’t think she could bare to survive knowing she was responsible for their death here.  
   
There are little things though, that she could make, to help the cause and…give her a place here.  
   
Some part of her wants to pretend that she just wants to help the right side – SHIELD and not Hydra, but most of her knows that all she wants is to belong somewhere, anywhere, for real.  
   
She hasn’t felt like she belonged since before SHIELD fell in the real world, and just because AIDA hasn’t been able to figure it out doesn’t make it not so.  
   
It’s funny though, the last time she felt like she belonged Ward was there, and he’s here again. But maybe this time will be better? At least until her real friends rescue her.  
   
                             

***

  
   
“You eaten, yet?” Antoine asks, sticking his head into Jemma’s lab with a smile.  
   
She glances at the clock, more than a little guilty, and he’s got an incredulous eyebrow arched at her when she turns back to him with a smile.  
   
Jemma doesn’t even manage to say anything before he’s shaking his head at her and saying, “Right, time to eat.”  
   
He knows his way around her lab far too well and he’s invading her space and is putting things away before she can object. She lets him, with only mild grumbles, because for all that she would’ve been perfectly happy to keep working, there’s something still so comforting about knowing that there are people – here – who care about her and will make sure she takes care of herself.  
   
The feeling of belonging is still heady, even if she’s starting to go a little stir crazy from not being able to practically ever leave the base. The first month wasn’t so bad, she mostly liked the security, even if it came with the paranoia of most of SHIELD – but it’s now the third month and she’s got a bad case of cabin fever.  
   
It’s better, of course, when she has company.  
   
Antoine is wonderful – and so similar to the real Trip that she sometimes wonders if he knows or if he’s just so good that no universe can alter who he is – but he’s not around as much as she would like.  
   
It’s not his fault, of course, he’s a talented agent and he has long stints undercover where he can’t make contact. But when he is around he’s usually around for more than a few hours, unlike some.  
   
“Grant should be back, today,” Antoine says, after they’ve gotten their plates, selected their seats and exchanged pleasantries with the handful of other agents also having a nibble.  
   
She ducks her head so as to tuck into her food and hopefully avoid the knowing look she’s sure he’s shooting her because the news most certainly brought a smile to her face. “That’s nice,” she says, once she thinks she can keep the smile out of her voice.  
   
She’s used to crushing on Grant Ward, it feels like it’s some inherent part of her existence at this point, but she’s not used to him returning even a fraction of her affection. Not, mind, that they’ve done anything. He does still have a girlfriend who he loves and – she’s sure he’s just being a friend. She means he returns her affection as a friend.  
   
Because they are friends.  
   
That doesn’t mean, however, that her heart doesn’t near beat out of her chest when he tugs her close and kisses her forehead before he leaves the base.  
   
She clears her throat and changes the subject, asking Antoine about the story he’d promised to tell her from his first undercover mission.  
   
He shoots her a look that says he knows what she’s doing, but he’s no match for her begging eyes and after a moment of stare down he’s capitulated and launched into a hilariously exaggerated story.  
   
The other agents crowd around and they listen and laugh and call Antoine on his bullshit – which he, naturally, takes great offense to.  
   
It’s wonderful, belonging.  
   
But it would be more wonderful with Grant at her side, nudging her and shooting her looks and –  
   
She tries to quell the thought and mostly fails, as always, longing tugging at her lungs.  
   
It wouldn’t be so bad, she doesn’t think, if she was ever able to really escape him. But this is his base, or as good as, even if Mace is the leader – and since he so rarely actually spends any length of time here, Mace has them sharing one room.  
   
There’s rarely ever overlap, and more than half the time when there is, she’s already planning to stay up all night with some experiment or another or he’s locked in with Mace, planning, all night.  
   
So far twice it has happened that they both needed to sleep, and both times he took the floor before she could formulate any reason to avoid the room until he was gone.  
   
But when he is there during the day he’s often taking naps in the bed and –  
   
It’s hard, she thinks, to try to fight off her feelings for him when she’s lulled into dreamland with the scent of him in her nose and touches of him throughout the room.  
   
But it’s fine. She survived her last crush on Grant Ward, and she will survive this one too. It would just be easier if she didn’t have Antoine nudging her and winking at her all the time.  
   
“You are such a liar,” Jemma says as Antoine finishes his story with him rescuing all the school children on a pure white horse that just happened to be wandering by at the time.  
   
“Well of course he is,” Grant says and Jemma jerks as she turns to look at him looming behind her seat, “he’d be a shit agent if he wasn’t!”  
   
Antoine clutches his heart, but reaches over to exchange the most ridiculous handshake with Grant nonetheless. Jemma rolls her eyes and shares an exasperated look with Cynthia, one of their communications experts, before Grant is dropping a kiss to the top of her head and settling beside her on the bench.  
   
He shamelessly steals the last of her tart, and she pushes at his shoulder so he’ll give her some space. He scoots over, a tiny bit, with a grin and she sticks her tongue out at him – then Antoine and Cynthia and all the rest are laughing, and even though it’s at her it’s not mean and she smiles back and lets herself settle into the banter.  
 

***

  
   
“Shit.” Mace rarely swears, so the word draws Jemma up short.  
   
“Sir?” she asks, hands hovering over the diagram she was about to use to explain the new compound she’d worked up.  
   
“Grant is on his way,” Jemma’s heart lifts, “think he’s in trouble. Maybe injured. I’m not sure why it’s so deeply coded, which makes me suspicious so – we’re gonna be ready to evacuate and I want you,” he chances a look at her and can probably see the objections on the tip of her tongue, “with a med kit on stand by, just in case, alright?”  
   
She nods, tucks her diagram under her arm and races off.  
   
When Mace finds her, fifteen minutes later, he offers her an insincere smile and says, “Sorry, false alarm. He’s fine. We got out wires crossed. Why don’t you just…wait…yeah, nevermind.” He sighs and doesn’t seem surprised when she follows him (still carrying her small first aid kit) to one of the entrances.  
   
Grant looks fine, completely uninjured and he’s smiling at her and she can feel the tension release from her shoulders, and then she looks past him and her heart freezes in her throat.  
   
Skye is standing there, scowling, and of course Grant is happy because he loves his girlfriend and he’s apparently decided it’s time to bring her in and – even Mace’s reaction makes sense now.  
   
She wishes she had listened to him, had stayed behind, because he’s so happy and she’s not sure she can keep the heartbreak off her face. She knew this day was coming – Grant had confessed to her that Skye was an inhuman, that he’d hidden that fact to keep her safe and that he wanted to bring her in at some point – but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.  
   
It doesn’t help that Skye _hates_ her.  
   
Jemma tries to smile, considers just ducking away while she has the chance – and then suddenly Skye is rushing towards her and oh dear she is going to die and –  
   
Skye is hugging her.  
   
Jemma stares over her shoulder, hands hovering uselessly and she’s not sure what to do for a long minute but then – then she takes a deep breath and she hugs back. She’s not sure what Grant must’ve told Skye about her, but she thinks she can take losing his love for gaining Skye’s friendship.  
   
“Oh my god,” Skye is saying, squeezing her tight and familiar, “it is _so_ good to see you!”  
   
Jemma freezes again, not sure if that means what she thinks it must and then Grant is there, somehow separating them and giving her a look of concern. She tries to smile back, to show him that she’s okay.  
   
Skye takes a step close to her again and breathes, “Holy shit,” and Jemma can feel the blood drain from her face.  
   
Grant must have told her they were just friends – which they are! – but now Skye has seen the way that Jemma looks at him and – Jemma abruptly drops her gaze to the ground, but then Skye is there, holding her shoulders and meeting her eyes and shaking her slightly. “Nope, nope, nope, nope! You do not want him.”  
   
Jemma feels like she’s going to faint as she tries to jerk away and defend herself at the same time “No! No, of course – I know that you two are – I would never – and –“  
   
Her words freeze in her throat with the familiar feel of Grant’s hand around the back of her neck and his lips on her temple. “We aren’t together anymore,” he says, and Jemma can’t help the way her heart jumps.  
   
Skye is staring at them, but it’s more horror than anger and Grant’s thumb is rubbing against the side of her neck and oh. _Oh._ “Oh,” she breaths, looking up at him.  
   
He smiles down at her and she’s half convinced he’s going to kiss her – but his gaze darts away and she looks too and remembers that they have an audience and yes, right, now is not the time. “Anyways,” he says, “ _Skye_ has some people she wants to find, to help the cause, so let me just show her to the command center and then I can help you with that thing.”  
   
There is not, as far as Jemma knows, anything she needs help with. Which means it’s a euphemism, which means. “Oh,” she manages, her voice most certainly a pitch too high, “okay.” And then she retreats, because she’s fairly sure she’s going to spontaneously combust and it’s just too much.  
 

***

  
   
“You’re not real,” Skye starts and Jemma winces. It is not an auspicious beginning, and Jemma can already see Mace and Antoine exchanging looks over Skye’s – Daisy’s, she supposes – head. “None of this is real,” she continues, and Jemma wonders if she is going to bring up the name thing or if she’s just going to keep letting everyone call her Skye.  
   
_Daisy_ continues on, mostly trying to convince them but also outlining her plan to get them all out of here.  
   
Jemma should be thrilled. Her friends didn’t forget about her, they did come for her and there’s a plan and –  
   
Grant tugs her slightly closer with the arm he has around her shoulder and presses a kiss into her temple and she realizes she’s not going to tell _Skye_ that she knows she’s telling the truth.  
   
She’ll help the other woman, she’ll get them out of here, but she’s not going to give up a moment of this by revealing herself to be something different now. It’s dishonest and it’s wrong but she doesn’t think she can stand Grant looking at her like he doesn’t know her, not when they have so little time left.  
   
“My compound,” she volunteers, once Skye has finished outlining her very rough plan. “The one I just finished, it can be pumped into a ventilation shaft and take out an entire building – you can get the missing people, the ones you’re telling us are _real_ , that way.” She looks at Mace then, and nods her head slightly, “And since it sounds like some of them are at Hydra HQ, we can take the place at the same time.”  
   
Mace and Antoine both grin – Skye is frowning at Grant who is still holding her, and when she looks at Grant he’s got one side of his mouth hitched up in a sad smile. She tilts her head in question and he kisses her forehead instead of answering her.  
 

***

  
   
They’re still ironing out the details of the plan – trying to find this backdoor that Skye insists exists and that Jemma is doubtful she’ll manage to talk the others into going through – when Elena shows up with Mack.  
   
Elena and Skye hug while Mack looks awkwardly around. Jemma is fairly sure Mack is muttering something uncomplimentary about the base, but she’s distracted from trying to sort it out when Elena turns from hugging Skye to hugging her tightly.  
   
She pats her back and feels confused and awkward. It’s not like she and Elena aren’t friendly, but she hardly thinks they’re the long drawn out hug kind of close.  
   
It’s starting to occur to Jemma that she might’ve been right, all along, about being dead on the other side. Why else would a woman she mostly has a professional relationship with hug her so tightly?  
   
“Um,” she says, and then Grant is there, separating them and frowning at Elena who is scowling at him and – “I’m just going to…go back to the lab,” she says, and escapes as quickly as she can.  
   
Grant follows her, because of course he does, and takes a seat at one of her benches, not saying anything as she shuffles around, preparing the space to make more of her compound.  
   
“Jemma,” he says, when she finally stops moving. “Come here.”  
   
She taps her fingers against the counter, tilts her head back, takes a deep breath, and then walks to him and lets him pull her into a hug.  
   
He runs his fingers through her hair and cradles her against him and she feels so safe she thinks she might cry. “You alright?” he asks, after a long minute.  
   
“Yeah, yes. I’m fine.” She tries, voice reedy with tears.  
   
He hums and pulls back enough that he can press a chaste kiss to her lips. “You wanna talk about it?”  
   
She takes a deep breath, lets it out through her nose, and tucks her face into his neck. “I’m afraid.” His arms tighten around her and she wishes she could just disappear into his skin. She can’t tell him her real fear, not without telling him what she’s known all along, so instead she equivocates. “I’m afraid that Skye is wrong and we’re all going to fall to our death – and I’m also afraid that she’s right but that the other side isn’t going to be…better, I guess.”  
   
He kisses her hand, probably because he can’t kiss any other part of her without dislodging her and she’s not really willing to move. “Regardless of if she’s right or wrong, I’ll be with you, every step of the way, okay? I’ll never let you go.”  
   
And how can she tell the man she’s in love with that he’s nothing but a string of code and that he, most certainly, won’t be with her? She can’t. So she does the next best thing – pulls back far enough that she can get at his mouth and she kisses him with everything in her heart.  
   
“Take me to bed,” she gasps, into his mouth, what feels like hours later but as her knees are still somewhat solid beneath her, so it can’t have been too terribly long.  
   
He grins, wolfish, and scoops her up to do just that – not caring if anyone sees them.  
 

***

  
   
“Alright,” Daisy says, “teams of two jump through after we get the others in –“ she nods at where they have tied up the people they weren’t able to convince and Jemma winces at the glare May is throwing their way, despite being gagged and restrained it is terrifying.  
   
Grant squeezes her hand and she smiles at him as best she can.  
   
“You’re not a real person,” Daisy says to him, a little bit spitefully, and Jemma knows she has to be right but it doesn’t make the knowledge hurt any less, “you shouldn’t jump. Your code will just cease to exist.”  
   
Grant tugs Jemma closer and she takes the comfort because she’s selfish and she’s in love with him and reality is about to rip him away. “Maybe,” he says, and Jemma can almost hear the smirk in his voice, “or maybe I am real. Only one way to find out.”  
   
“Grant,” Jemma finally looks up at him and the mean smirk she can see he was directing at Daisy morphs into a sweet smile when he looks at her – not like he’s trying to hide it, just like he can’t help but give it to her when he sees her. “I don’t – I don’t think I could stand it if you died in my arms, jumping with me.”  
   
Daisy gives a satisfied huff and walks away, clearly sure that Jemma will be able to talk sense into him, going back to helping Trip, Mace, and Mack transfer the others one by one over the cliff.  
   
Grant frowns, slightly, presses a kiss to her forehead and walks her over to where the others are being lugged over the edge, to where the jagged rocks at the base of the ocean are turning into a glowing blue portal.  
   
They both stare at it for a moment, then he turns back to her and smiles. “I won’t die,” he promises, framing her face with his hands and leaning down until their foreheads are pressed together and all she can see is the sincerity in his eyes. “I love you, and I promised I was never going to let you fall, so I won’t let you do this on your own.”  
   
And then he’s kissing her.  
   
And the pounding in her ears is actually the rush of the wind as he’s thrown them over the side and she’s crying into the kiss and holding him tight like that will bring him over with her and –  
   
There’s so much noise and the world is so bright and her temple is pounding – she can feel the dried blood that’s still there – and then May is there helping her out of the restraints and her knees go weak and even though she knows better she has to look around and –  
   
Grant isn’t there.  
   
Her tears sting her cuts as they race down her face and she’s broken and he was wrong and – Trip pulls her to his chest and she sobs.  
   
   
   
   
 

***

  
  
  
  
  


   
A thousand miles away, Grant arches off the table with a gasp, one of his agents there to help him disconnect the complicated wiring that he’d used to hack into the system.  
   
“You know where they are?” he asks, once he can speak again.  
   
“Yes, sir,” Bishop says, handing him a tablet with live video.  
   
Grant traces her face as she sobs against Antoine’s chest, and smiles. “Good.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Her birthday is on September 20th, so you should put it in your calendars and make sure you wish her a happy birthday, okay?
> 
> Also, if you wanna yell at me on tumblr about my inability not to abuse commas or, you know, something about the characters, you can find me [here](http://capriciouswrites.tumblr.com/)


End file.
